Gotta be the Good Life
by ChaosHasCome
Summary: Series of one-shots. Of late night adventures, mishaps of the potion related variety, break ups, hook ups, and falling in love with your best friend and arch nemesis. Of Hogwarts, next generation style.
1. The Sorting of Victoire Weasley

**The Sorting of Victoire Weasley  
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The sheer volume of the stone fortress in front of my eyes was astounding. I knew everything there was to know about Hogwarts. I had committed to memory every trick step and the paths of all the moving staircases. I could recite the four houses and their founders, I'd memorized every benign fact of information that there was to know. The only thing I had not been prepared for was just how massive my new home would be. Pointed turrets jutted up straight into the cloudy sky. A vast lake stretched in front of me, it's gray waters lapping at the cobblestone walkway my fellow first years and myself were standing on. Boats were strung precariously along the sides of the dock, each bobbing gently in the water.

In the distance, I could see the shrouded shape of the boat house, far on the opposite shore. Tentatively I crept forward, as did a few other of my fellow students, to peer inside one of the boats. Each ship was wood, with two solid benches long enough to hold two small first years apiece. Aside from a coil of rope lying in a neat pile in the middle of the boat, the insides were completely bare.

The bravest of the first years, a group that included me and four others, were the first to step foot into the boats. Soon after, the rush to claim seats next to newly found friends began. The boats rocked more violently as students clambered inside. Seated next to me was a pale haired boy with wide blue eyes. I turned to face him as we waited for the boats to calm themselves once more. "I'm Victoire Weasley, It's a pleasure to meet you..." I held out my hand.

"Lysander, Lysander Scamander." He shook the proffered hand before dropping it gently. "My brother Lorcan, he's just over there, next to that bloke with curly red hair." He gestured towards his twin with a pale hand. "Lorcan wants to be a Ravenclaw, like mum. But I'd rather be a Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff's are a rather unassuming lot I've heard and often overlooked. I think I'd fit nicely with folks like that. Which house are you aiming for?"

I mulled over his question. The obvious answer was Gryffindor; that was where my dad had been sorted, as well as the rest of his family. Mum had been a Beauxbaton's witch. But I didn't want to follow the tradition of my family, so I answered with a confident, "Ravenclaw." Lysander nodded and turned his wide eyed gaze back toward the castle looming over the dark lake. Stars were begin to reveal themselves in the haze of the velvet sky. They shone dimly through the gray blanket of clouds coating the atmosphere.

The boats moved forward with a small jolt, heading slowly towards the opposite shore, amidst astonished gasps of those less informed than I. Of course the boats moved of their own accord. Did they really expect the school to make us row them by ourselves? Surely not.

The boats slipped through the glassy water quietly, without raising ripples in the smooth surface. Minutes turned into countless moments of anticipation as we slipped ever closer to Hogwarts. Lysander was fidgeting next to me, whether out of excitement, nerves, expectation or a combination of all three I didn't know.

It seemed to me as if ages had slipped by before the boats slowly creaked their way to a stop at the docks. The castle loomed larger than life now, and I wondered briefly how I would keep from getting lost once inside.

I drank in every sight I could as we were ushered into a wide open space, easily big enough to fit my family's house comfortably inside. We only lingered for a few moments, before being herded through large double doors and into the great hall.

The ceiling was smattered with pinpricks of white light, various shades of black, navy, and gray painted across the mock sky. The absolute reality of it all took my breathe away and, for a moment, I lost myself in the imaginary heavens.

I was startled out of the reverie by the beginning of the sorting, starting with "Astair, Reginald." Everyone was shifting nervously, waiting for their name to be called. I heard, "Scamander, Lorcan," and then "Scamander, Lysander," and watched as each was sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively.

"Vittan, Margaret," was declared a Gryffindor, a sharp "Weasley, Victoire," rang across the silent hall. The whispers began as the first Weasley to attend Hogwarts since the end of the war sat on the stool to be sorted. The ragged hat was placed upon my head and the brim covered my view of the outside world, leaving me to wait in darkness.

When the hat started to speak, I wasn't at all surprised. I had heard of this many times from my numerous Uncles. The hat quietly sifted through the contents of my mind for a few moments, weighing each of my attributes against each house.

Intelligence and a thirst for new knowledge, the mark of a Ravenclaw.

Humility and no qualms concerning hard work, Hufflepuff worthy.

Ambitious and anxious to prove to the world that I was not just a Weasley, I was _Victoire _Weasley, thoughts expected in a potential Slytherin.

The hat rested on Gryffindor for the barest of moments. _Please, please not Gryffindor. Anywhere but Gryffindor. I want to break traditions, not uphold them. _The hat seemed mildly amused by my thoughts.

I sat perfectly still on the three legged stool, trying to restrain my impatience as the hat poked and prodded at my mind as he tried to tug an answer from my brain. Several long moments later the fruits of his labor were announced, ringing oddly against my ears.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat's parting words, whispering in the corners of my mind, stayed with me, even as light flooded my eyes, revealing rows of shocked students.

_Prove you are different. Prove it to your family. Prove it to the world. Prove it to yourself. _

And that's just what I was going to do.


	2. Of Weasleys and Malfoys

Rose Weasley sat across from a dying fireplace, legs curled under her petite frame as her eyes perused the pages of her book, _Howarts: A History_. Though one could argue that her obsession with this particular text rivaled that of her mother's, Rose would quite pointedly tell you that she had only read the book cover-to-cover _four _times. She would continue on to tell you that her mother's total of nine far out shadowed her own meager number of four.

Tucking a strand of unruly auburn hair behind her ear, though she wasn't certain how it had managed to escape the confines of her charmed hair band, Rose settled upon a particular passage of text outlining the magic behind the enchanted staircases of Hogwarts. Rose found this to be particularly fascinating, as it was a rather peculiar piece of charm work that involved several layers of spells that continually needed to be reapplied every decade or so.

Just as Rose found herself lost in the pages of her book, the loud chiming of the clock told Rose it was well past midnight and, for that matter, curfew. Sighing, she closed her book and slipped quietly from the couch. The embers burned red and cast shadows across the room in a haunting array of grays and blacks. Rose crept quietly up the marble staircase, aware that everyone else in her house was asleep and would not appreciate being woken up at such an ungodly hour.

Slipping under the gold stitched duvet, Rose set her book on the nightstand and tentatively closed her eyes, cautiously entering the realm of slumber.

Sunday dawned over a crisp blanket of white snow, sunlight reflecting off the glassy surface of the Black Lake. A few owls swooped through the still morning air, and the world as a whole seemed to be taking a deep breath of fresh, December air. Glittering flakes fluttered down to Earth, sticking to windows, forming crystalline patterns of frost across the panes.

Rose Weasley, for her part, was largely unaware of the beauty of the outside world, lost as she was in her potions essay. The properties of the moon stone, its uses, and a general history of the substance itself. It was quite fascinating really, though Rose found most everything she learned in her classes fascinating, if not just for the fact that she had no knowledge of it beforehand.

It was here, in her usual library haunt, that Scorpius Malfoy happened upon one very studious Rose Weasley.

If there was one thing that Rose hated more than incompetence, it was Scorpius Malfoy. The golden haired Adonis seemingly found ways to worm under her skin and wriggle around just enough to make her explode with frustration. This was a feat in and of itself, as Rose hadn't inherited the usual Weasley temper. Much more mild mannered than her younger sibling Hugo, it was a rare occasion when Rose lost her cool. But on the occasions that she did, one could be almost positive that Scorpius Malfoy would have had a hand in it.

In his favor, Scorpius was desperately in love with the auburn haired Athena, though aforementioned girl had no inkling of this development. Scorpius intended to keep it this way, because Malfoys and Weasleys _just did not_ mix.

As Scorpius gazed upon her form, freckle covered nose brushing the parchment, slender hand gripping a quill that whirled across the page, his gut clenched and he turned away, closing his eyes and reminding himself that the beautiful woman behind him would never be his because she was _Rose Annette Weasley _and he was _Scorpius Prometheus Malfoy_, and what would his _father _think? Stormy gray eyes reopened and their owner strode away, well aware that his resolve wouldn't hold much longer and he was quickly running out of time. It was already the middle of their sixth year, leaving him with only a year and a half to capture the affections of one Rose Weasley. She would be his, to hell with the consequences. His father be damned.

Rose Weasley was finally torn from her fierce concentration by the growling demands of her stomach. Hoping to grab a spot of toast and jam before resuming her essay, Rose made her way down to the Great Hall, where breakfast was just appearing on the tables. The room was largely unoccupied, with the exception of the odd Ravenclaw. Gryffindor table was completely empty save for a lone figure. Rose gazed at them curiously before taking her own seat at the opposite end of the bench.

Spreading thick grape preservatives across her toast, Rose cast another glance at the figure she now recognized as Scorpius Malfoy. She idly wondered why he would be awake this early on a Sunday, while the rest of the castle, and his mates, slumbered. It was not unusual for Rose herself to be awake at this time on the weekends, but it was unheard of for Scorpius.

His posture was poor, Rose noted, as his tall frame slumped forward, shoulders arched towards the table. There was a tortured air hanging about him and Rose thought that this may be the perfect time to discuss the Transfiguration project that they had been partnered together for. No one would be around to see her hold a civil conversation with him, and he looked tired so perhaps he would be a bit more cooperative. Rose supposed she shouldn't get her hopes up. Gathering her bag and grabbing her slice of toast, she relocated to a seat directly across from her arch nemesis.

"Malfoy. I think we should spend today on our transfiguration project. It's due on Friday and since I have no intention of spending any of my time with you during the week, now would be the most practical occasion to finish it." Her eyes stared at him expectantly but he neither looked up or even seemed to acknowledge her presence. The pads of her fingers beat out a rhythm against the wood and Rose could feel herself becoming increasingly irritated by the second as he continued to ignore her. "Fine," she huffed, "I'll finish by myself. But don't expect me to give you any credit." With that she snatched up her bag and stormed out of the Great Hall, forgetting all about her untouched piece of toast.

Later, as Rose lounged around in the common room, head resting on the stomach of her boyfriend Clarence Finnigan, she mused over her day, which had started so well and had gradually worsened as the hours progressed. Only Clarence had managed to dislodge her foul temper. Glancing up at him, she smiled. She couldn't possibly find a better match for her if she'd tried. He was the yin to her yang.

"Why Clarence, I think you're going soft. I feel as if my head is lying on a pillow." She sat up to poke his rock hard abs, toned from years of Quidditch.

He laughed and grinned his deliciously white smile at her. "Pillow I may be but at least I'm not sporting a matching pair of love handles." This was punctuated with a chaste kiss to her lips and she pouted as he pulled away.

She tossed her hair and sniffed disdainfully as he wrapped his arms around her supposed 'love handles.' "I prefer to call them feminine curves, if you must know." She snuggled back into his chest, gazing at the fire. A loud yawn escaped her lips and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Clarence laughed and kissed her cheek fondly. "Someone's stayed awake reading far too long last night. You need sleep Rosie, if you're to continue beating me in all our classes." Rose began to protest but a calloused finger pressed against her lips. "Rose, I'm worried about you. You need to relax. Go to bed early tonight, for me? It'll give me peace of mind to know that you're sleeping a healthy amount, at least for one night."

Rose nodded resignedly. "Couldn't I just sleep here?" She turned to press her face to his chest. "Mmmm, you smell wonderful." And he did. Her nose tingled as she took in the scent of his aftershave, a minty pine that alighted her senses. Laughter rumbled deep within his chest, and Rose could feel it against her cheek. She pressed herself closer and smiled, completely content with her lot in life.

She wasn't quite aware of Clarence's reply as the world began to blur at the edges and her body filled with that delicious state of unconsciousness that was referred to as sleep. Her eyelids drooped shut and her brain, ever working, carried her off into the realm of dreams.


End file.
